


Adjusting to Godhood

by BeJuled



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Benign Demonic Possession, Character Development, Cyrodiil, Deity Power Training, Friendship, Insanity, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Morrowind mentions, Mortal to Immortal, Oblivion Knowledge not required, Shivering Isles, shifting pov, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6698698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeJuled/pseuds/BeJuled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"A change is coming. Everything changes. Even Daedric Princes. Especially Daedric Princes."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first long fic project I've worked on in over eight years! Please bear with my upload schedule, too. I'm trying to update on Sundays, but stuff does happen on the irl side.
> 
> A knowledge of Oblivion isn't... I guess, entirely necessary to read this(?), but you'll probably be confused as to the events I reference. I try to make them all self-explanatory without bogging down the narrative, but it isn't always enough. If all you've played is Skyrim, I'd _think_ you'd predominantly be able to follow along. 
> 
> Although, I would **highly recommend** giving these a quick Google read:  
>  The Elder Scrolls pantheons (Aedra and Daedra)  
> Sheogorath (in pretty much every one of his TES iterations)  
> The Shivering Isles main quest (summary knowledge should be good enough)  
> And various other canon Oblivion character backstories and events as they come up
> 
> I take my own creative liberties with established canon to build to build up the narrative, so... If there are some discrepancies in that area, it's almost definitely intentional. I also adlib/use lines from the actual game if it suits a purpose in the dialogue.
> 
> If all of that hasn't scared you away, enjoy _Adjusting to Godhood_!

My legs refused to obey me to stop Martin as he ran to the middle of the Temple of the One. Mehrunes Dagon had broken through, destroying the ancient stone arches. He loomed over us, singeing the air around the man I had so quickly come to care for.

I’ve never revered the authority of the Empire nor followed the Nines’ silence. I certainly believed my friend would be a more than competent leader, but I still didn’t think him Divine. Until now.

I locked into place as I saw him crack open the amulet and imbibe its power. When its light took him off the ground and evaporated his body, my world shattered. I lost control of the Cloak spell hiding my Madgod appearance, falling down and grasping at the wall behind me.

Martin’s dragonborn spirit manifested into the avatar of Akatosh, golden and utterly brilliant. He flew faster than I could see before landing, and he battled the towering daedroth. And before I realized it was over, Mehrunes Dagon was enveloped in the Dragon’s purging light and vanished.

Finally, I took a breath. It was done. All my attention locked onto Martin. His eyes, still the same shade of blue, opened through what must have been the most terrible suffering. He focused on me.

Anguish, love, pride, and fear rushed through me at the Dragon’s gaze. But thunderous guilt crushed them all when I saw what was in Martin’s eyes. 

Betrayal.

I felt him looking at my heart itself. He saw what I’d become. Every secret I’d kept laid bare. He knew I had only followed him in the pursuit of a morbid curiosity and revelry I didn’t fully understand. He saw everything he’d turned away from sitting in front of him. He saw Sheogorath. He saw a liar. He saw _me._

My eyes burned and vision blurred, and I thought he was flaying me alive with his anger alone. But tears streamed down my face. Why had I ever stepped into that portal to the Shivering Isles? Why hadn’t I just turned back after I first met Haskill? Why hadn’t I just rotted in prison so Martin would never meet me and see what a fraud I was?

Martin’s Dragon threw his head back and shrieked, thrashing back and forth in death throes. His voice thundered the ground and broken temple. He slowed as his golden scales faded and locked him in place. He became pure stone, and Emperor Martin Septim was no more.

The sky began to clear of the red clouds of Oblivion, and I wept. I succumbed to the guilt pounding through my chest, emptying me out in spasms. I deserved this. I deserved to be bled dry for treating my friends' lives like they lived in a storybook unfolding just for me.

The transparency of what I’d done turned into hysterics, and I couldn’t stop. I suddenly found it uproarious. I’d tricked a son of Akatosh and then made him feel what no one should feel in the moment of their death. Little old me! What fun! I clutched my sides, wheezing guffaws mixing with sobs.

I don’t know how long I was like this, but it was probably only a minute or two. The Oblivion clouds still lingered above where I lay in the fetal position, my giggling hiccups fading. I stared at Martin’s stone feet, my limp arm outstretched towards him.

“What have I done?” I rasped, my voice destroyed from the fit. _I’m sorry, Martin. Forgive me,_ I pleaded in my mind. **Sure, it’s sad. But don’t be sorry! You got to see a golden dragon god! That doesn't just happen every day,** said another thought.

I sat up, resting my elbows on my knees, and grabbed two fistfuls of my hair, trying to stop my brain from boiling itself. Tears still streamed down my cheeks and my nose dripped with snot freely. My breath wouldn’t steady and panic clutched my heart like hawk squeezing prey. _What have I done? What have I done? How could I do thistomyfriendwhathaveIdone!_

A cool wave passed over me, and my turbid thoughts calmed. I heard Martin’s voice, loud and clear.

“Oh, Vaynith.”

My body tensed and hands flew out of my hair to the ground, supporting my upper body. I looked up at the stone Dragon.

“I fade quickly, so heed my words.”

I didn’t dare to move, slack-jawed.

“I wish you would have told me sooner. You saw betrayal in my eyes, but you mistook it for clarity. Where you go now, I could have never followed.”

I could no longer see his statue. Tears swam anew in my eyes.

“I go gladly now to meet my father and my father’s fathers. For I know that my sacrifice was not in vain to close the gates of Oblivion. Forever.”

“But…” I rasped out, unable to speak further.

“The shape of the future, the fate of the empire—these things now belong to you.” Defeat weighted his voice. It was so unlike him that I didn't believe it at first. He'd realized that I treated this like a game, and he conceded “checkmate.” He'd defeated one daedroth but never saw the other.

 _I didn’t want this,_ I thought back at him. _If I had known, I would have never wanted this. Forgive me, Martin. Please!_ **Ta, Marty! Say hello to your dear old Da for me. He thought so much of us.**

The cooling presence left. He was gone. The clouds of Oblivion had fully faded into the blue sky of Cyrodiil for good.

My chest still buzzed from the panic I felt earlier, and I shakily got to my feet, leaning heavily on the wall. The doors of the temple, somehow undamaged, opened and Chancellor Ocato rushed over to me. I threw up my Cloak spell again, averting my eyes for a moment while it hid them, my tears, and probably a mess of snot.

"What happened? Where's Martin?” said the Altmer. “I must congratulate him! Mehrunes Dagon is defeated! Cast back into Oblivion! We've won!"

“Martin is gone,” I said. My voice didn’t belong to me, compounded with its raggedness.

“What do you mean, gone? We saw the Temple dome explode, the avatar of Akatosh appear… That was Martin?”

“He shattered the Amulet…”

“The joined blood of kings and gods. The Amulet of Kings. The divine power of Akatosh.”

I didn’t bother responding. I stared at the rubble around my feet, resolutely not looking at Martin’s statue anymore. 

Ocato shifted his weight and clasp his hands together. “So that’s it then. The gates are sealed, and Mehrunes Dagon and his ilk can never threaten Tamriel again.”

 **Oh, you’re just adorable! His ilk is right in front of you, little elf! Unless you mean his nasty little scamps. Hate them. But you gotta love them too!** I barely listened to the chancellor as he discussed Martin’s sacrifice, restated what had just happened, and ignored worrying about the future to live in the victory of the moment.

I was filled with resentment at his lack of feeling for Martin or foresight. Ocato was an idiot. He was probably going to assume the role of Emperor and get himself killed soon thereafter. Maybe by me. My fury spilled onto my features for a moment, and I brushed roughly past him for the doors.

Ocato, quite oblivious to my state of mind, caught my upper arm to stop me. “Oh, wait! I cannot just let you leave without proper recompense.”

I didn’t look back at him for a moment, trying to gain control of my rage. There wasn’t much point to it, but I could never let on that I was less than the honorable “Hero” of Kvatch. I turned to him, my face neutral.

I immediately wished I would have just kept walking. He pronounced me “Champion of Cyrodiil” and went on about what it meant and said he’d have a suit of Imperial Dragon armor made for me.

I wanted to use my cloak to manifest into something horrifying to show him what I thought of that. “Thank you,” I said and left. He called out something about the statue being a memorial for Martin and _me_ to stand forever.

It only took me three minutes to run through the city to the harbor. I slid down the steep shores and sprinted across the water thanks to my Ring of Happiness. I ran all the way to Niben Bay and into my portal by the time the sun set. I didn’t stop until I collapsed on my bed in the House of Dementia.


	2. Incompatibility Paradox

When I awoke, I lay on my stomach like a brick at the bottom of a trench. My limbs were stiff and unused. A tacky, long dried crust had sealed my eyelids shut. (Disgusting. Could I even become ill anymore?) I had to rub them so they could open. I grimaced and groaned, the air itself stinging.

How long had I been asleep? Haskill would probably know, but I didn’t care to find out just yet.

I rolled over and slid my legs off the side of the bed. My hair fell in a thick, matted curtain around my head, shoulders and upper chest. I pushed some of it behind my ear and saw I was still in my journeying raiment, boots and all. The corner of my lip quirked up as if pulled by a hook. No servant bothered to come in at any point and attend to my obvious exhaustion?

Pausing I blinked at myself and shook my head. Gods, did I really just think that? This castle was absolutely no help for diminishing my ego. I pulled out the string that usually kept my hair bound back from a thick knot. I pulled out several follicles but didn’t feel pain.

**In My unholy Name, you are far more boring than I thought!** came an unbidden, very loud thought.

I jolted, gripping the sheets under me. Clenching my jaw, I forced myself to get up and focus on something banal. I refused to think of what that intrusive voice reminded me of now. I fumbled through one of the chests in the room, going through the dead Duchess of Dementia’s effects. I found a fishbone comb, of all things, and set on untangling my greasy mess of hair.

**If you’re intending to ignore Me, you’ll have a hell of a difficult time,** said the voice again, sounding much more sinister.

I did just that, counting backward from two hundred. I’d never been one to actually care for my hair as long as it didn’t look noticeably bad. My mother had been the one to fuss over it up until the day I left for Cyrodiil. But the action itself was calming and pathetically reminded me of her. Some adult I’d become, afraid of my own thoughts. My own, and not my own at the same time.

_196, 195, 194…_

The voice sighed and I heard a chair being pushed back. The sound gave me pause, and I looked around the room. I was alone, and I would have heard the door open. Unless it was Haskill, phasing past the door to come heckle me for ignoring my duties again.

**At least it’s roomy in here. Young minds are usually empty. Won’t be for long, though! Once you cease to exist in favor of Me, that is.**

I paused mid-brush. _Fuck you,_ came my immediate response before I could stop it. I knew it was Sheogorath—the original—that was speaking to me. He’d been getting louder just before Martin had—yeah. But my thoughts would remain my own, damnit.

**Ooh hoo, he speaks!** said Sheogorath, his tone jovial again. **Don’t be so hostile, though, Little Mer. You forget to Whom you speak.**

I threw the fishbone comb onto the mattress and said aloud, “I AM you!”

**Are you?**

“You hold no power over me. I have rightfully earned the title of god!” My cheeks flushed, unbidden, when I remembered I was talking to myself.

I heard clapping and Sheogorath laughed heartily. **Ah, I always loved your sense of humor. Just about as much as I hate it. You are right about one thing. You are Me, but you still aren’t yet. You _definitely_ haven’t earned the title of “god.”**

I wanted to reach inwardly and deck the figment of a Daedric Prince. I picked up the comb again. _184, 183, 182, 181…_

**I wasn’t spouting idle prattle when I said you’ll cease to exist. I do have to thank you for separating Me from that twit Order. I honestly didn’t think that we _could_ be separated again!**

My jaw clenched. I yanked through a thick knot. _179, 178, 177…_

**Hmm. But you seem to think I was a curse conjured up for Jyggalag.**

_171, 170, 169, 168…_

**Well, I’ll be the first to tell you the fantastic news! You may have become Me, but you’ve got the added bonus: Me!**

I couldn’t help it. I frowned and let my hands fall to my lap. _That makes no sense._

**Of course, it does! Perfectly makes sense. Sense makes it perfect, at least in this regard. I’ve always been Me, even before Order. Whenever he came around, I was suspended in _his_ prison while he was free. Dreadful place. Not a shred of color anywhere. **

I drew out a long sigh through my nose. I worked at one of the last remaining mats.

**With you, though, we’ll never have to worry about him again. All that’s left is for you to cease to exist.**

“And to think I actually enjoyed your company before this,” I muttered. “You can forget it.”

**How touching. You’re so naïve that it’s practically disturbing!**

I finished combing out the last tangles and set the comb on the nightstand. I caught a glimpse of the long dried blood from Syl’s decoy at the corner of the mattress. (Why did I sleep in here?) “Leave me alone.”

**We are alone.**

His voice seemed to come from directly inside my left ear, making me scrunch my shoulder up to rub it futilely. “Fuck,” I growled. I stripped off my raiment and boots. Sweat and bodily smells wafted up into my face. My nose wrinkled.

**We’ve been asleep for four days, since you were curious.**

_Go away!_ I shouted in my mind. I pulled on my black silks, rifled through my travel pack for a book I'd picked up before the Temple incident, and sat on the chest I’d found the comb in. Burying myself in the pages, I steadfastly ignored anything else Sheogorath said for the next hour until Haskill showed up at my door.

**Author's Note:**

> Jules from the Future: I will almost definitely not revisit this fic, but I won't say never. I'm notoriously bad at continuing longer works if I post anything of it before it's done, so 'tis the fate of his poor fic. 
> 
> I'm keeping it up just in case I do come back to it, but I wanted to put a note on this for any future readers. <3


End file.
